Detention
by GrimSpeck18
Summary: What would happen if Professor Snape had an illicit affair with a female student? Would it be romantic? Or something more sinister? One shot!


Disclaimer: Snape and the potions lab is JK's, they aren't mine. I really wish Snape could be mine though….

The grim potions lab was surrounding us. The dead animals in their little glass bottle cages stared at us.

"You're late."

His stoic voice, terse reply. I was terrified. What would he have me do? The dark eyes stared at me, void of all emotion. Firm shoulders contrasted with flowing robes, plain black fabric with tiny buttons that paraded over the stitching of snakes in black string that flowed down his robes, as if in time and march with the buttons… The buttons that I knew would have the tiny little silver pieces on them…The little buttons I would be ordered to undo.

"Don't just _stand_ there! Get over here! Now!"

I moved toward the desk; the desk that I knew looked smooth and worn, but in reality was splintering and rough when you were pushed onto it. It was the deepest brown, so dark it looked black. Everything was always black here, always night-like. Tiny bottles of dead or dying creatures littered it, while a large rusted bronze snake mouth held quills. It gave the appearance that the snake was swallowing a bird, or some other kind of feathered monstrosity. The middle of the desk was covered in a green desk mat, and hundreds of papers, one of which was probably mine. Red ink, running along the edges of the papers like blood, covered them. And lying in the red ink, fingers clenching, as if scraping away the grades written there, were his hands: pale, dirty nailed hands. Years of potions and blood and death lay underneath those pieces of pure cartilage which protected the soft tissue underneath. The sins underneath: His sins…now _our_ sins.

"Strip."

I complied. What else was I to do? This man could pierce my very soul's living breath with only a look from his eyes; Those cold ebony spheres that held a flame only I knew was kindled, that only grew to its raging fury and lust as I removed one article of clothing at a time, slowly, slowly, as if time itself froze in the cold dungeon air, and the silence was all that moved it to its anticipated movement through space.

The faded gray-blue jeans gently slid to the cold rocky floor, which years of disastrous messes had stained to turn a deep rocky steel color, while white streaks ran throughout the stones like bleach on black silk. White and black, like his collar against his skin…skin I was soon to run my lips over, silky smooth with rough stubble along edges only I knew held it, wreaking of a scent only I had ever believed existed in a sea of skin and man.

Next my crinkled velvet blazer went, coming off jerkily, as its velvet rarely stretches when worn. The deep purple sagged to join the discarded jeans and back pack thrown to the worn floor upon which I stood, giving myself fully to a man who could be my father by age, a beast who kept me captured by enticing candies and horrible games. He was a monster that I loved with an avenging love and an open, empty soul.

Together, my pale T-shirt became one with the company now covering the floor, and I bore myself willingly for him, standing there like a martyr: arms open, not bothering to cover my worn _Victoria's Secret_ bra and the _JC Penny_ underwear… but he never cared about lingerie. It was removed with such speed and deft skill that the color or style was irrelevant. All he desired lay beneath their foolish cover, and nothing on earth or heaven's orb could keep him from finding what he desired.

"Come. I will have what is mine."

And I came to him, softly, hesitantly, knowingly across the floor. Would he know? Did I really care for him? And yet I sat, seated on his warm heavy knees, much like a Christmas child on St. Nicholas. And yet he was farther from innocent and saintly as Columbus from the Orient, and I knew escaping him was impossible, and loving him- inevitable, irrevocable, irreplaceable by any other feeling. He was irreplaceable, and I would never lose him. He was mine as much as I, his.

I was the one person he despised and yet adored with such a fervent passion, all emotion and breath were taken hostage by it and brutally killed, silent as the stifled air inside the cold dungeon in which I sat, perched like a sing-song bird of flight on a perch; upon the man I knew and didn't want to. I was now his, was I always to be? Yes, yes, why do I always find myself questioning him with silence, I would ask him, and would never be allowed to… Questions were for class, and this, was detention. My thoughts ran askew and somehow became so jumbled the space inside my mind grew short, and so they become words and found new life outside the prison of my mind.

"I would have met you anyways."

My breath hitched as my lungs accepted the cold air that was sucked in from the outside world. My words became soft, misunderstood, but… he always understood my words.

"Ah," he sighed with irony in every second of escaping breath, "Is life only an enzyme working for fate's pay? Is the gold that fate rarely offers worth enough to be here? Those who knew have travelled on… so must we in time."

My ears hummed with the sound of his voice, much like a cello lightly stroked on a low G. It was musical, symphonious, and all in all, magnificent. It was perhaps the most he had ever spoken to me in seemingly loving words. But love was such an uncommon thing from him. All the passion he ever showed was exhibited in lust for a small feminine body with dark hair and two unnatural eyes. I was something he believed was unachievable except by lust, pain, and dominance. But in end, it was he who had my soul in his possession forever.

"Begin."

And so our brilliant dance began. With only one word, I was ordered to bury all my embarrassment, all my indecency and scruples, and start a process I had been taught by a blindingly harsh force of hate and dominance… dominance…he was the dominant… my brain could not issue words further… He was my dominant. And I in the best description was a slave unto his dizzying will, his herculean, unbreakable will, that stretched on forever with merciless words of undying cruel disposition that would always be given into, and adored.

I slowly unbuttoned tiny black and silver buttons, tiny barely discernable snakes etched into the flat of each tiny silver circle with care and detail. I worked with every breath to focus on the snakes, and not on the slightly hitching breathing coming in warm puffs of a tiny breeze above my head, making my hair whisper in my ears to go on, go on, go on…. I was almost done the incredibly difficult task, when I was forced into pause by the feeling of callused fingertips circling along my spine slowly, until they came close to the clasp of my bra, which fell to dip about my elbows, creating a frame from the front of hanging dark hair and a tiny pink bra, framing tiny breasts that grew tense and hitched my breath when they felt the breath of my companion. How shy, breasts are, around a man. They are but mammary glands encompassed by fatty tissue, and yet babies grow fat off of them, men grow wild and beastlike because of their firmness, and a woman becomes a goddess by having them in her repertoire. I longed to be a man, never timid, never weak and always the dominant one… and yet this newfound submission was thrilling, enticing, a rich dark chocolate that tingled when bitten and left the eater yearning for it hours after the initial meeting. The circling hands continued down my bony spine's slight hills and valleys and started to caress the softest part of my existing, living corpse.

"Let us continue… come."

But instead of on foot, he carried me slowly, in a sleepy shuffle along the deep dark hall that lead to a place only he and I inhabited together, a dark world filled with animal sounds, created by the strange sensation of realizing you are never alone in this strange corporeal world that thrives only on sight through eyes that we do not own, and feeling through limbs and nerves which are never really ours. And I knew I did not own me, and he believed he would never own me… and together, we created our own world, far away from the world outside.

I was safe, in the arms of a man who, like me, hid from the world behind masks we only shed for each other. And for once, I smiled, and I believe he was smiling too, whether for evil intentions or good intents, he was smiling, and it was for me, forever only for me…

I am the only student who has ever found love, happiness, or meaning in a detention…

I lay in his bed, long after he had escaped from the corporeal world into a world close to death…sleep. I looked up at the stars above our head, placed there by magic I would never use. And I planned my lesson for the next day…perhaps I will prove yet again to be as worthless in class as he always said I'd be, I never tried, he said… why would I- If it would take me away from a cozy bed, a man's warm body, and the fantastic image of a love that never existed?

Authors Note:

Dedication, For Mary: My fellow Snarry lover and my young apprentice: Here's an "Opa" to many more great stories and episodes to come! Just ask and another might issue forth from the ensuing mind with which I write these words and force them onto this page via harassing my computer and banging keys… poor Keyboard.

Please review and give feedback!!! 


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